


Everybody's Looking for Something

by Jenetica



Series: Sweet Dreams [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Minialpha, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dream Sex, Kinda, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychic Bond, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is very happy. Seriously. Being in a relationship with Derek, his mini-beta, is probably one of the best things that's ever happened to him. But their size difference means that, beyond jacking off with each other, their sex life is kind of non-existent.</p><p>Little does he know, Derek's got one hell of an ace up his tiny sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody's Looking for Something

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally going to continue with this story, but it made it very clear that it wasn't through with me, just yet. So here this is. Six thousand words of filth.
> 
> This fic, like its predecessor, is inspired by prettiestalpha's [Minialpha series](http://prettiestalpha.tumblr.com/tagged/minialpha).
> 
> God, I am blanking on notes right now. I know I had stuff to say. Um, I'm not entirely satisfied with the way this turned out, so I'm really sorry if you spot my pacing inconsistencies. Just... ignore them. (I'm horrible.)
> 
> Title is from "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" by the Eurythmics.
> 
> Un-beta'd.

Being in a relationship with Derek is both the best and worst thing Stiles has done in a while. Okay, that sounds super melodramatic. Fuck. Let's start over.

The relationship itself is beautiful. Derek is sweet and funny and thoughtful and patient, and all of these amazing things that Stiles loves. Stiles has always known that about him, but it's different when all of things are directed at Stiles romantically. It's like Stiles has been watching the sun rise through his window every morning, and now that he's crept out onto his roof to immerse himself in the dawn, it's a thing of transcendent beauty. The colors are just that tiny bit more radiant when you hear the birds chirping in the trees and the wind rustling around you. The world is that tiny bit more magical. That's what it's like, dating Derek.

For the most part, that is. The thing is, Derek's a mini-were, and Stiles is human. Stiles doesn't have any moral hang-ups about that, not after discussing them with Derek at excruciating length, but it still presents some rather unique problems. Namely, sex. Stiles and Derek used to be discrete about their self-love, because living with another dude this intimately can easily turn awkward. That changed when they started dating, became a non-issue.

And it's awesome. Seriously. Stiles has never been more sexually satisfied than he is with Derek. But, then again, Stiles is still technically a virgin: he's never had someone else jerk him off, or jerked someone off, or any of that. Derek tried, once, but Stiles' dick is pretty much as big as Derek's entire body, so it mainly resulted it lots of laughter on Stiles' part and overexertion on Derek's. (Although there was that one time Derek spent like fifteen minutes licking just under the head of Stiles' cock that still holds top place in Stiles' spank bank.)

It's been enough, so far. Stiles loves crawling into bed with Derek and jacking himself off to the sounds of Derek doing the same. Derek makes beautiful noises just before he comes, Stiles has discovered, all breathy moans and tiny growls. It's intensely, intensely hot. But Stiles fears it won't be enough, after a while. He can already feel an itching need to touch, to feel Derek fall apart under his touch, and it's impossible the way things are.

The last thing Stiles wants is for their relationship to fall apart over something so trivial, but he can't help but feel like they're climbing to this peak they can't climb back from. It's terrifying. He hasn't talked to Derek about it yet. He's not sure how to broach the subject.

Luckily, Derek does it for him. They've taken a study break to relieve tension (a.k.a. have sex), and Derek is laying across Stiles' stomach. “I need more,” he states simply.

“Me too,” Stiles says, sighing heavily. Derek has to brace himself so he doesn't roll off. “Sorry.”

“I think there's a way,” Derek says. And fuck, that's news to Stiles.

“How?” he asks. “I mean, is it, like, magic? One half of the mushroom makes you grow bigger, the other half makes me grow smaller?”

“No, not quite,” Derek says, laughing. “Weres have this power. Well, some of us do, I don't know if it's like a species thing or a person thing.”

“Okay,” Stiles says patiently.

“Basically, we can share thoughts,” Derek explains, looking strangely constipated. “Kinda.”

“Like a mind meld?”

“Kinda,” Derek says again. “I heard about it a few years ago. So, like, you put your claws into someone else's neck, in very strategic locations, and it connects you mentally. Or something.”

“That sounds kind of awful,” Stiles points out. A neckfull of fangs, even tiny ones? No thanks.

“I don't think it is, though,” Derek says, sounding unsure of himself. “Like, the skin immediately becomes numb. But more importantly, it allows us to share one mindspace.”

“Wait,” Stiles says slowly. His brain is traveling in a thousand different direction right now, and about nine hundred of them are obscene. “You mean--”

“I mean size isn't a problem in the dream world,” Derek replies, sound excited. He stands up and starts pacing across Stiles chest, completely comfortable in his nudity. “I can be you-sized, you can be me-sized, whatever we want. If it works, that is.”

“Fuck, let's do it,” Stiles yelps, picking Derek up so he can sit up. “Fuck the claws.”

“It might not work,” Derek says nervously. “I've only heard of mini-were doing it to each other, Stiles. My claws might not be able to reach the appropriate nerves.”

Stiles freezes. “You have to touch my nerves? In my spine?” That's, like, the most dangerous thing he's ever heard. He trusts Derek, sure, but on the other hand,  _paralysis_.

“I know,” Derek says, sounding distraught. “It's stupid, I shouldn't have mentioned it.” He looks pale, like he's reconsidering every life choice he's ever made, and somehow it calms Stiles, makes him think about it.

“No,” Stiles says slowly. Fuck it. He's seventeen years old. If he's going to risk his life for sex, now's the time. “No, I think we should try it. Like you said, you might not even be able to reach the nerves. I think we at least owe it to ourselves to try.”

“I don't know.” Derek twists his tiny hands together. “I don't want to hurt you, Stiles.”

“You won't,” Stiles replies much more confidently than he feels. “Come on, if we never try it we'll always be curious. It's fine. Now, and I mean this with every innuendo you can imagine, how do you want me?”

Derek huffs, running his hands through the spikes of his hair. “We're doing this now? Um. On your front, I guess?”

Stiles inhales through his teeth, bracing himself, and rolls over. Derek scurries over Stiles' shoulder and Stiles feels him sit on the knob of his spine. Fuck, this is really happening.

“You're sure,” Derek asks one last time.

“Get on with it,” Stiles says impatiently. Derek snorts and rubs his hands over the skin of Stiles' neck, soothing. Then, a second later, Stiles feels a sharp pain. He inhales but stays still, wary of accidentally severing his spinal column with something as ludicrous as a flinch. The pain fades after a second, but Stiles can still feel Derek moving on his neck, under the skin. It's more than a little disturbing.

In a flash of color, he sees a plane of pale, freckled skin and a sensation of being absolutely terrified. “Derek,” he breathes, “wait.”

“Yeah,” Derek replies faintly. “Yeah, I know.” He twists his hand and Stiles shuts his eyes. He sees skin, his  _own_ skin, and Derek's tiny hand pressed into it. And he can smell himself, salty-citrus musk, and the vanillin in the books across the room. He can even smell the bitterness of spunk emanating from his hand and the balled up tissue in the trash can. Shocked, Derek pulls his hand out, and Stiles falls back into his own mind.

“Derek, that totally just happened,” Stiles whispers. “Derek.”

“Wow,” Derek breathes. “I wasn't sure it was even possible.”

“Let me up,” Stiles demands, suddenly eager to see Derek's face. Derek slides off his shoulder and Stiles sits up. “We have to do that again, Der.”

“No way,” Derek retorts, crossing his arms. “Stiles, it worked. Do you know what that means? My  _claws_ were in your  _spine_ , man.”

“Yeah, but look at me,” Stiles replies, flailing his arms around. “No paralysis here, bro. I'm one hundred percent mobile.”

“I could have  _killed_ you,” Derek hisses.

“But you  _didn't_ ,” Stiles insists. “And you won't.”

“I can't guarantee that.” Derek walks over to his boxer shorts and pulls them on. “I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you in the future.”

“I had no idea your senses were so sharp,” Stiles confesses wide-eyed. “That's amazing, that you can see and hear all of that.”

“It's amazing that you don't,” Derek replies, smiling shyly up at him. “Being in your head is like losing track of everything. You barely sense anything. But the colors, God. You see so many colors.”

Stiles was so busy smelling everything that he hadn't noticed Derek's vision but, looking back, the world was grayer than normal. “Huh. You're right.”

“Thank you,” Derek says unexpectedly. “For, you know, letting me do that. It was brave of you. I mean, risk of injury aside, you just let me into your brain. That requires a lot of trust.”

Stiles hadn't thought of it like that. “I do trust you, though.”

“I guess I never knew how much,” Derek says quietly. Stiles gets that this is a a revelation for him-- it's a revelation for both of them, really-- and stays silent. He pulls his laptop onto his lap and loads Netflix instead, content to watch the afternoon blaze by, one Buffy episode after the next.

Stiles doesn't bring it up again, and Derek is content to pretend it never happened. They go to school, they play video games, they spend time at Scott's. They lead their lives like they used to, before Stiles' sex dream that started this whole thing. Like they'd never dated. Stiles never realized how hollow their friendship was until now, how much room was left over from their relationship until it was gone. Derek doesn't cuddle him anymore. He doesn't give him those sweet smile that Stiles loves. He doesn't look over at Stiles, eyes brimming with contentment.

Stiles misses him so much, it's painful like a physical thing.

“Why are we like this?” he asks into the stillness of a Sunday afternoon. They're both lazing on the living room couch, half-heartedly watching an informercial. Derek doesn't even move from his position on the armrest, so Stiles thinks maybe he's been expecting this confrontation.

“I don't think there's another way for is to be,” Derek says after a moment. He plays with the tip of his tail.

“What about the way we were before?” Stiles asks, uncaring that his voice borders on a whine. “I was happy with that.”

“To what end, though?” Derek snaps, standing and facing Stiles. “We can't have sex, Stiles. I can't even hold your hand. What kind of relationship is that?”

“I was happy with it,” Stiles repeats, shrugging.

Derek completely deflates. “So was I.” He scrubs his hands over his face, and only then does Stiles see the purpling bags under his eyes, the pale of his skin under his scruff. Derek looks  _tired_.

“I don't get it, dude,” Stiles sighs. “Did I miss something? Because I feel like you're doing the thing where you angst over nothing, like that time you refused to do anything because you thought you were a financial burden on me.”

“You were going through a big rough patch,” Derek says plaintively. “Roscoe's transmission died and your dad insisted that you pay for it yourself. But you blow so much money on me all the time that it took you months to save up for it. I don't think that's 'angsting over nothing.'”

“I like buying you things, though,” Stiles reminds him in an echo of what he told Derek four months ago, when they first had this talk. “And it's not like you ask me a lot. I mean, come on, you're no Jackson.”

Jackson was Lydia Martin's mini-beta. He wore designer clothes and, as Lydia told Allison told Scott told Stiles, made Lydia buy him a full mini-gym, which cost over a thousand dollars. He was the biggest asshole Stiles had ever met, regardless of his size.

“I know, I know,” Derek says. “I remember the pep talk, okay? But this is bigger than that. This is me protecting us--”

“From what? What could possibly worse than this?”

“You, living in a wheelchair for the rest of your life,” Derek says, face and voice like stone.

Stiles winces. “Yeah, that's not ideal,” he says, “but I don't believe it'll happen. Come on, Der. You guys have this power for a reason.”

“So mini-weres and humans can have psychic gay sex?” Derek asks, smiling ruefully. Stiles' laugh fills the entire room.

“Well no, but still. I want to try again. I want us to work, Derek. It's my spine, which makes it my responsibility. And I say go for it.”

“God, it's so much more complicated than that.” Derek scratches at his throat. “Okay, okay, geez. We can try again.”

“You're the best,” Stiles tells him, beaming. "Now?"

"I suppose now's as good a time as any."

Stiles scoops Derek up and carries him up to their bed. Like last time, he lays face down and helps Derek climb up to sit on the knob of his back. Derek breathes in and out slowly, a tiny shift of pressure on Stiles back, before Stiles feels him dig his claws into Stiles' back. The pain is just as intense as the first time, but it abates more quickly. Derek's claws shift and Stiles gasps: they're connected.

It's like living in two bodies at once. He can see his room in bright colors, and he can also see his back, pale and gray. He can feel Derek's weight pressing down on him just as he feels his own body between Derek's tiny thighs. It's amazing, and more than a little weird.

"How do we do this?" he asks Derek. He can feel Derek's confusion as clearly as his own, and that helps keep him calm. They're in this together, in the most literal and unbelievable sense of the term.

"Close your eyes," Derek says, and Stiles can see that he's closed his own. "Picture the room in your mind."

Stiles does as he's told. He imagines his room at night, cast heavily in shadows, with only the light of the streetlamp outside to see. "Stiles," Derek says from behind him.

Stiles turns and gasps. Derek's his size, muscled and just a hair taller than Stiles. "This is a lot like the dream," he realizes, blinking rapidly. Derek looks identical to the person Stiles dreamed up all those weeks ago. "But you were shirtless."

Derek's shirt vanishes in the blink of an eye, and he's just as glorious as Stiles remembers. Only this time it really  _is_ Derek, and Stiles doesn't need to be confused because he's got full permission to touch and explore. He reaches out one hand and lays it flat on the center of Derek's chest. Derek is warm and solid beneath him. Like seriously solid.

"Are you, like, making yourself really attractive on my account, or is this the way you look?" Stiles asks.

Derek frowns down at his body. "I think this is pretty accurate. Why?"

" _Dude_ ," Stiles says reverently. "You are hot like  _burning_. Jesus Christ. How do you even get this many muscles?"

Derek shifts, looking self-conscious. "You don't see me this way when I'm little?"

Stiles frowns, thinking that over. "I wouldn't say that," he decides. "You're a very good-looking guy, Der. And obviously I noticed your body a little, because the guy I dreamed up matches you, like, perfectly. But you're not usually, y'know, this wall of muscle that you are right now. Do you know what I mean?"

Derek smiles. "Yeah, I get it," he says. "Just like, I know theoretically that you're lean, but you're usually so big that I don't see it."

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, struck by the peculiar sense of self-consciousness. He's always disliked how his body grew lanky and thin, while Scott got muscles overnight, like some fairy came down and sprinkled protein powder on him in his sleep. "And now?"

"You're beautiful." Derek says it so sincerely that Stiles can't help but believe him. Derek reaches out one hand and cups Stiles cheek. Stiles tries not to lean into it too much, but it feels too good to resist. Derek's hand is soft and warm, it reaches all the way from Stiles' chin to his hairline, and  _God_ it's amazing. Stiles' gaze falls to Derek's lips, pink and full and just barely chapped, and he needs to taste them. He leans forward, swaying into Derek's personal space.

That seems to be all Derek needs, because he wraps an arm around Stiles and hauls him in for a kiss. Derek's lips are warm against Stiles, insistent and hungry. And Stiles, Stiles just melts into it, melts against Derek and holds on for dear life. Derek uses the hand still on Stiles' jaw to tilt their heads just so. He licks across Stiles' bottom lip and Stiles opens his mouth, completely onboard with the idea of Derek consuming him from the inside out. Derek breathes harshly through his nose once, hands demanding for one hot, perfect second, and he licks into Stiles. Stiles moans and sucks on Derek's tongue, body heating up.

Derek turns supplicant, hands moving as if to ask permission, lips teasing against Stiles', begging for more. And the beauty of this is, all Stiles has to do is think about getting naked and his clothes disappear. "This is like fucking sex magic," he murmurs.

"Abracadabra," Derek replies huskily. Stiles tries for a moment to not laugh, but, well, really?

"Dear God," he chokes, leaning back to look Derek in the eye. "For real? 'Abracadabra?' That's the line you're picking, here?"

Derek smiles guiltily, rosy-cheeked. "I'm a little distracted, you know. Not operating at full mental capacity."

"Am I distracting you?" Stiles asks seductively, batting his eyelashes. Derek slides both hands down Stiles' back until they rest over the curve of Stiles' ass.

"A little," he says, pulling Stiles forward slightly. Stiles rocks into Derek's hips and groans at the hardness he feels there.

"Take off your pants, Der." And  _abracadabra_ (Stiles is  _so_ killing Derek for that later), Derek's pants are gone. "I need to see," Stiles says, pulling back, out of Derek's embrace. "Wanna see you."

Derek releases Stiles instantly. Stiles steps back and nearly falls over. Derek is like a fucking Adonis, all curved lines of muscle and smooth skin. Stiles wants to get his mouth  _all over that_.

"Jesus Christ, Stiles," Derek groans, and Stiles isn't sure if it's because Derek likes what he sees or because he can hear Stiles' thoughts through the connection. Stiles likes to think it's both. He grips the base of his cock and pumps once to soothe the ache. It feels so good he thinks he might die. But first, he has to pay his respects to his cause of death: Derek's cock. He drops to his knees and looks up at Derek through his eyelashes.

"Can I?"

Derek looks like he's about a second away from coming, but he nods anyway. Stiles shuffles forward and wraps one hand around Derek. He's thicker than Stiles, dark red and covered in veins. Stiles puts his hands on Derek's hips for support and licks a fat stripe all the way up the underside. Stiles isn't sure who whimpers, but it doesn't matter. He has a dick in his face, he isn't about to sit back on his heels and philosophize about sex sounds. He uses one hand to hold Derek at the base and suckles as the head, drunk on the way Derek tastes and feels in his mouth, because it's  _Derek_ and they're actually  _doing this_.

Derek sounds like he's dying, but his hands are gentle in Stiles' hair. Stiles pulls away and smiles up at him. "You okay with it being like this?"

Derek blinks slowly, like his brain is stuck. "Yes," he says, crystal clear for emphasis. Stiles beams at him again-- hey, he did that to Derek, and that's, like, hella awesome-- and sucks down as much of Derek as he can. Derek wheezes and clenches his hands in Stiles hair. _Oh_ , Stiles can definitely get behind that. He pulls back slowly, letting his cheeks hollow, and rubs at the head with the flat of his tongue before bobbing back down. He likes doing this, he realizes. He likes it a lot. And so does Derek, judging by the way he's fisting Stiles' hair.

A handful of strokes later, Derek tugs at Stiles warningly. Stiles groans and takes Derek as far in as he can, swallowing the liquid he can feel hitting his throat. The shadowy room stutters, Derek's skin shifting beneath his fingers as the real Derek loses focus on maintaining the mental connection. Stiles stands and rubs at his knees to get the feeling back into them while he waits for Derek to come down. It takes a second for Derek to re-solidify, but once he does he gives Stiles the biggest smile. "You're amazing."

"Ditto," Stiles says, moving in close to nose along Derek's jawline. "I'm more than a little in love with your stubble," he whispers, biting down and feeling the hairs rasp under his teeth. "Never shave again."

"If I do that, I'll get a mountain man beard," Derek says affectionately. "No way."

Stiles tilts his head. "Actually… it could work."

Derek kisses him hard. "No," he says emphatically.

"Alright, alright, jeesh!" Stiles says, throwing up his hands. "It's your face. Whatever." He jostles his dick against Derek's stomach, which reminds him abruptly that he hasn't come yet, and he would very much like to. "Hey, Der, I'm not trying to be selfish here, but I would really like to take care of this." He gestures down to himself.

"What do you want me to do?" Derek asks, looking at Stiles' dick with something like ravenous hunger. It's almost (almost) a little frightening. "Because I kind of want you to fuck me."

Stiles reels back in surprise. "Uh." His voice breaks and he has to clear his throat. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that, actually." But boy, does he want to be.

"Oh," Derek says, suddenly looking awkward. "I didn't mean--"

"Hold up," Stiles says, raising one hand, "before you get all shy and self-deprecating. I very, very much want to, okay? But I want our first time to be, like, a thing. You know? I want to work up to it. This is our first time trying this out. I want to get to know you first."

Derek's smile is so soft it almost breaks Stiles' heart. "Yeah, we can wait," he says. "What do you want?"

And like a switch, Stiles all at once feels the burning need of arousal pulse through his veins. "Your hand," he says. "Just, just your hand."

Derek moves Stiles until he's sitting on the bed, then kneels between his legs. "I can do that," he purrs. Fucking  _purrs_. When did Derek-the-adorable-and-shy-mini-were become Derek-the-sex-machine-lumberjack-of-Stiles'-deepest-fantasies? How did Stiles miss this?

Derek wraps a saliva-slick hand around Stiles, and Stiles decides it doesn't matter. All he cares about now is the warm friction Derek's giving him. "A little tighter," Stiles requests. Derek shifts his grip and Stiles bends nearly double. "Jesus  _Christ_ , yes, fuck." Derek grins, all teeth, and jerks Stiles slowly. Stiles's eyes roll back into his head at how  _sweet_ the pleasure is, how smoothly it rolls through him. He won't last long, even like this. "Please, just, faster. Derek, wanna come, please."

Derek growls-- actually growls, in the animal way-- and speeds up his hand, twisting on the upstroke. Stiles feels his head spin, feels pleasure zing up his spine and down into his toes, and he's coming in hot waves. Derek jacks him through it, removing his hand only when Stiles whines in oversensitivity. The next time Stiles can bring himself to focus, Derek is licking come off his fingers. Stiles wonders, not for the first time this evening, if he'd secretly died and gone to Heaven.

He very well may have.

Derek finishes cleaning himself off and leans up to kiss Stiles, and the taste of his own come on Derek's lips is hotter than it should have been. "Are you ready to go back?"

Stiles sighs. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, go for it."

Derek withdraws his claws and Stiles watches his shadowy room disappear in a swirl of darkness. Derek climbs off his shoulder and slides to his spot on Stiles pillow. Stiles watches him with sleepy eyes. "What'd you think?" Derek asks shyly, the complete opposite of the man he'd been ten seconds ago. Stiles warms inside. The hot lumberjack thing was great, but nothing,  _nothing_ , compares to a sleepy, bashful Derek.

"I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he replies, rolling to face Derek. "And I think we should to that continuously for at least the next decade."

Derek frowns. "I think we'd need to eat eventually," he says doubtfully.

Stiles flicks him on the ear, grinning. "Not literally, you dumbo."

Derek smiles at him sweetly. "I know, I was teasing, too. But we should do it again. Does your neck hurt?"

Stiles lolls his head around, then swipes a hand over where Derek had his claws in it. His hand came away clean, not even so much as a deck of blood. "Dude, do you guys have magical healing powers, too?"

Derek gestures for him to turn around. Stiles shows him the back of his neck, and he hums. "Guess so."

"You know what this means?" Stiles asks, grinning. "No lasting damage. You won't give me so much as a scar, amigo."

"Unless I paralyze you," Derek reminds him helpfully.

"Oh come on," Stiles says, nudging Derek's shoulder with a knuckle, "we did it successfully twice. And let me just take a moment to emphasize the  _successful_ in that. Derek, hot damn, buddy."

Derek blushes and snuggles into his pillow. "Yeah?" he asks hopefully. "You, too."

Stiles curls up onto his side, facing Derek. "So we're doing this again, right? Like, all the time?"

"Yeah, probably," Derek says, yawning in the back of one tiny fist. "We should check with Deaton, though. Make sure whatever's healing your skin doesn't have long-term effects."

"Sounds good," Stiles agrees, but Derek's already asleep. Stiles rubs the side of his thumb lightly over the length of Derek's arm, smiling when Derek grabs it and hugs it like a full-body pillow. "Goodnight, little man."

* * *

 

They go to Deaton, the veterinarian who specializes in mini-weres, the very next day. He's a quiet, mysterious man with the patience of a zen master. Even Scott, who's spent the last two years helping out around the animal clinic, has less than zero ideas on what this guy is about. Stiles can respect that, kind of. He can (and does) also fear it, too.

They decided not to tell Deaton about the content of the thought-sharing, worried that the veterinarian may judge them and refuse to provide counsel. Still, he shoots them a glance that could be knowing (or could be constipation), and gestures that they follow him. Deaton conducts a close study of the back of Stiles' neck, scrapes at the skin and everything. He even takes a tube of blood. "I can't guarantee this without running several tests," he says, sprinkling some sort of green powder onto a slide with a drop of Stiles' blood on it, "but you seem to be in perfect health. Any loss of sensation or movement following a session?"

"None so far," Stiles says, smiling at Derek comfortingly. The little guy looks about out of his mind with nerves.

Deaton hums. "Do you have any questions?"

"Actually yeah," Stiles says. "How come I don't have any scabs or anything? What's that about?"

"Mini-weres are fascinating creatures, Stiles," Deaton says, giving Derek a soft smile. "They can reassemble their molecules, they can regrow tissue faster than any other creature alive, and, among other things, they can heal small wounds on others."

"How?" Stiles asks, rapt.

"It seems to be related to a venom they secrete from their fangs and claws," Deaton says, swirling another drop of Stiles blood in a test tube with something blue. "My colleagues postulate that it contains some sort of enzyme that kickstarts cell growth. I doubt it's something so mundane."

"And when you say minor damage, does that extend to the nerves Derek has to touch to get the whole dream state thing going?"

"Very good thinking," Deaton says, shooting him a pleased smile. "I would say yes. If Derek's claws come into contact with a nerve, I should say with relative certainty that the venom would heal any damage caused. Severing a nerve entirely is another matter. The venom will not reconnect it, it will instead heal both ends, separating them permanently. I urge you to be cautious, Derek, during these sessions."

"I am," Derek says petulantly. For all he respects Deaton's pool of knowledge, he hates the veterinarian's disposition. Stiles has had to sit through the rants after every check-up. "I told Stiles we shouldn't do this. He could end up paralyzed."

Deaton hums thoughtfully. "I doubt that," he says. "I don't think your claws get quite that deep, Derek. You may graze the spinal cord but, like I said a moment ago, that's no problem, so long as you do not gouge through them. I merely encourage you to exercise restraint. I believe wholeheartedly that you have Stiles' best interests at heart."

"Damn straight, I do," Derek grumbles. Stiles bites his lip to hide a helpless grin. He loves grumpy Derek a lot.

"Well, we'll let you get back to your tests," Stiles says, lifting Derek onto his shoulder. "Let us know if you find anything."

That night, after five full minutes of pleading, Stiles gets Derek to agree to try their thought-walking thing again. This time, though, he lays on his side and Derek stretches across his pillow, one arm outstretched to Stiles' neck. It's more comfortable this way, and it leaves a hand free for, uh, personal use.

As soon as the dream state solidifies, Stiles wraps Derek into his arms. Hugging is one of the few things Stiles can't do to Derek in his natural size, and after the day they've had, Stiles could use some comfort. Derek melts into the hug, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist and lifting just a little. It's easily one of the best hugs Stiles has ever had.

"I've wanted to do this all day," Stiles says, chin tucked up over Derek's shoulder.

"Me too." Derek's voice is a comforting purr of sound against Stiles' neck. "I love you."

Stiles' heart thumps hard, once. They haven't said "I love you's" since they became romantically involved. It's always been obvious that they love each other very much, but now it's out there, it's explicit. Derek's in love with him.

"I love you, too," Stiles whispers, tightening his arms around Derek's neck. It never formed fully in Stiles' mind, how much of his heart Derek has filled up, but it's crystal clear now. He's head over heels for this dude, no U-turns or take-backs included. "Holy shit, man, I'm in love with you."

Derek's grip turns rigid and he pulls back, looking completely vulnerable. "You are?"

Stiles blinks at him, letting the feeling swell in his chest, trying it on for size. "Oh hell yeah."

Derek inhales and presses soft, snuffling kisses under Stiles' jaw line. His hands move softly, desperately, over Stiles' sides and around his hips. "Stiles," he whines, voice breaking, "Stiles, I need--"

"Anything," Stiles agrees, running his fingers through Derek's hair soothingly. "You can have it, Derek. Whatever you want."

Derek growls, loud, and hefts Stiles up. Stiles squawks and wraps his legs around Derek's waist, dick hardening because Derek's carrying him fucking  _effortlessly_. His back hits a wall and Derek cants his hips up so Stiles can feel hardness pressing along his ass. He's not sure if it's thought transference or the way Derek feels pressed against him, but Stiles is suddenly just as desperate as Derek to touch and feel. He wills his clothes away, groaning when Derek does the same a second later. Derek's cock drags along the crease of his ass in sticky, jerking lines, and it doesn't begin to be enough.

Stiles bites at Derek's jaw, hands flying everywhere. "Bed," he says, sucking Derek's earlobe into his mouth and teething at it. "Lube. Sex. C'mon."

Derek snarls, eyes flashing bright blue, and crashes his mouth onto Stiles'. The kiss is hot and brutal, all intent and no finesse. Stiles can't get enough of it. Before he knows it he's horizontal and bouncing. Derek's dropped him onto the bed. Stiles, confronted with the spectacular view of Derek's chest, laves over a nipple while Derek fumbles through the nightstand drawer to find lube. Derek keens and rolls his body down onto Stiles, finding the lube and shifting back into place.

"Do you want?" he asks, holding the lube questioningly.

"You do it," Stiles moans, skin itching with need. "Want your fingers inside me, Der."

Derek drops his head onto Stiles' shoulder and lets out a pitiful sounding whine, hips grinding hard into the mattress. It's enough to pull Stiles out of his haze, to realize that they have all the time in the world and this pace is driving them both insane. "Hey," he soothes, petting one hand over Derek's back. "Hey, it's okay. I got you, Derek. Calm down, buddy, it's just us."

Derek shudders and pulls his head up. His eyes are glowing blue. "I want you so bad, Stiles."

"You have me," Stiles says in that same measured, easy tone. "I'm right here, man. Not going anywhere. You okay?"

Derek takes in a shivery breath and nods. His eyes bleed back to hazel green, and he looks calmer. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry."

"No apologies needed, bro." Stiles rubs his hands into the muscles of Derek's shoulders. "Believe me, I get it." He presses his hips up, reminding Derek of how very much onboard with all of this he is, and Derek's eyes turn hungry. He grins, all white teeth, and slithers down Stiles' body. Stiles gasps and fists his hands into the bedclothes. Derek's all predator right now, and Stiles is so willing to be prey, Darwin's rolling over in his grave. Derek uncaps the lube and drizzles some on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up. Stiles cants his hips up when he feels Derek rub at his hole.

The lick to his cock is shocking and perfect, so much so that Stiles barely notices that Derek's breached him with one finger. Derek works the finger in and out of Stiles, thumbing at his rim and licking at his cock in alternating beats. Stiles thinks this is what internal combustion probably feels like.

The second finger is a stretch, one that Stiles rolls into with a sigh. The twin sensations of Derek working him open and sucking his cock make Stiles utterly pliant, riding the waves of pleasure as they come to him. Derek scissors him open slowly, carefully, and Stiles barely notices the third finger slip inside. He does notice the burn when they're all seated fully inside him, though, and it makes him shudder like the world's coming apart.

Derek pulls out his fingers with a wet sound, and Stiles hisses at the loss. The bed rustles and Stiles feels himself being lifted, Derek's knees pressing into his lower back. He opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) and finds Derek's glowing eyes fixed on his own. "You ready?" Derek's voice is little more than a growl, gravel over sandpaper. It's the hottest thing Stiles has ever heard.

He wants to make a joke, wants a smart-assed reply to pour out, but he can't think of any. Instead, he pulls himself up until he's sitting in Derek's lap, a breath away from touching. "Yeah."

Derek leans in and kisses him, using one hand to line himself up. Stiles feels the press of Derek's cock and rolls his hips into it, relishing the way the head pops in. Derek's hands turn to vices on Stiles' hips, holding him in place. Stiles rubs his hands through Derek's hair while they adjust, until Derek is rocking his hips up, working into Stiles slowly. Stiles lets him do his thing, knows Derek needs to do this at his speed. Finally Derek's fully inside him, hips pressed against Stiles' ass.

It's so much, almost  _too_ much, but it's awesome. Stiles grinds down and Derek's hands relax, rubbing apologetic circles into the marks he left behind. He lifts Stiles' hips (lifts his entire body,  _God_ ) and eases it back down. Stiles groans and tilts Derek's head up, sucking at his throat. It's a trigger, he knows, for mini-weres, and it works. Derek growls and slams them together, setting a brutal pace that leaves Stiles heaving for air. He shifts into it, digging his fingers into Derek's shoulders. The way Derek's moving has Stiles' cock rubbing wetly between their bellies, leaving trails of precome everywhere, and Stiles knows he won't last long.

A handful of thrusts later, nearly all of which hit Stiles' prostate, Stiles comes, arcing into Derek and shooting white lines up his chest. Derek pumps him through it, angling Stiles back to lick at the spunk. Stiles falls back onto the bed, aftershocky and sated, and lets Derek shift so he can thrust harder into Stiles while continuing to lick at his chest. Stiles moves his hips into it as best he can, desperate to get Derek off even though he just came. Derek's grunts turn to whimpers, his thrusts growing erratic. Stiles curls his hips just in time to feel Derek pulse inside him, to feel the come fill him up. Stiles' cock twitches painfully with how hot it is.

Derek leans over him, heaving for breath, and pulls out slowly. He shifts back, away from Stiles, and drops to sniff between Stiles' legs. Stiles blinks, wondering what he's doing, and groans when he feels a tongue press against him. Derek laps at Stiles, curling his tongue inside for one blisteringly hot second, and crawls back up Stiles' body. Stiles pulls him down into a kiss, knowing he should care about where that tongue was, but he doesn't. Honestly, he can't bring himself to worry about anything, right now.

"You're amazing," he tells Derek. "Shrines should be built to what you just did."

Derek smiles, eyes worried. "I didn't hurt you?" he checks.

"God, no," Stiles snorts. "I-- Jesus. You did a lot of things, just then, and I regret none of them. Are you okay, though? You got kind of, uh, growly."

Derek stretches out, a hot line on Stiles' side. "'M good."

Stiles curls into him, loving the way his body aches. "Good. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. We should do that again always."

"Okay," Derek says, sounding sleepy.

"Should we, you know?" Stiles asks, gesturing toward the back of his neck.

Derek frowns, shrugs. "If you want, but I kind of want to fall asleep like this, with you. That okay?"

Stiles leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, bud," he says, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's perfect."

And it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I may do a third part to this series. I shall neither confirm nor deny those plans. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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